1. Wear something comfortable.  Something like jeans and a t-shirt.  Something that says, I am not a runner.  I take myself too seriously.  I would rather sit on the sidewalk drinking beer while you fools go run like it’s fun or something.

2. Arrive at the square with enough arms and bags to carry all of your non-runner stuff (camera, purse, reading material, umbrella, water bottle, etc.) and all of your significant other’s runner stuff (water bottle, free t-shirt, wallet, car keys, etc.). Promptly lose significant other because you had to run back to the car to get more stuff (aka. your jacket because it’s cold and you, the smarter of the two, will not be running).

3. Find significant other standing in line to acquire his bib (that’s fancy runner talk for “numbers”).  Quickly become bored and wander off to see how many random strangers will let you take their photos.

I now own a piece of each of your souls. Mwahahahaha.

4. Realize how many people are there.  Start to experience a pang of anxiety.  Calm yourself by remembering that soon they will all be gone and you will be left relatively alone because, as one of the smartest people in Raleigh, you will not be running.  You will be free to breathe, holding nothing but 80 lbs. of crap.  And also, somehow, a glass of beer.

Will you all just GO already?  You’re drinking all of the beer.

5. Strategically position yourself in a place where you can get a good view of the lesser species — that running breed of human — as they leave your life forever.  Or at least the next 20-50 minutes.

Observe that the most hardcore competitive runners wear the most colorful footwear. Do you think that makes them faster, or is it simply so you can see something — a bright streak of color — as they zip by at lightening speed?

Some are clearly in it to win it. (Bright green shirt guy.)

Some wear looks of sheer determination. (Green tank top girl.)

Some are probably stoned out of their minds.

Kidding.

Some are… well.

I actually think he might be on to something here.  A kilt could provide excellent breathability.  Though he could’ve gone shorter.

This is NOT responsible running attire.

I sure hope he’s wearing a sports bra.

People who run with children are like extreme gluttons for punishment.

And also kind of badass.

It’s fun to embarrass your significant other by screaming and yelling like a crazed fan while snapping photos with paparazzi-like ferocity.

6. When they’re gone, find yourself the bar.

Order a Smithwick’s (but pronounce it Smiddicks, so you sound like you know what you’re talking about), sit on the sidewalk, and make friends with the other smart people who don’t run.

When the mob returns with the wet stench of sweat and pain unfit for human habitation, feel slightly superior in the fact that you’re still clean and happy as the last wash of Smithwick’s slides down your throat.

Totally, totally winning.

(For the record, I love runners.  They’re like the happiest people on earth, and the truth is I just like to be around them and try to absorb the endorphins via osmosis and beer.  Click here to see the last race I watched, and here for my friend Erin’s experience at the Merrell Down & Dirty Mud Run)